


Static

by glovered



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-15
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-24 09:17:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glovered/pseuds/glovered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a thunderstorm and also Dean can't seem to keep his hands off Sam. Bobby and Dean plot to get to Cas. This is a rescue mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> PROMPT: Thunderstorms.

As always, local news hadn't made mention of what had gone on in the factory by the river, and the demon smoke had been explained away as heavy, rolling clouds—the winds had reached record highs before the storm, and they were in coal country, after all.

Now, two days later and it was still raining.

It was a seemingly nondescript Saturday for most Blue Mountain guests. People socialized in the lounge and the young guy who was doubling as front desk and server came over with a tray laden with mugs. "Three hot chocolates," he said as he started passing them out.

Dean accepted his mug with a wink. "Marshmallows. This place is going on my list of fine dining, middle of nowhere America."

Bobby, who had been the one to check them into the B&B in the first place, scowled and said, "Feet off the table, Dean."

Dean swung his legs onto the floor and lounged back, grinning up at the Tristan, who, for whatever reason, had made it a habit of ignoring everyone but Dean. Dean would have been stupid not to notice, not to milk it for all it was worth. Extra marshmallows, maybe fifty bucks off their stay there.

Tristan rolled the empty tray between his hands, not quite making eye contact. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Nah, I think we're good."

"Well, if you think of anything...." he hedged. "Anything at all...."

"Won't hesitate," Dean promised.

He moved away to take another drink order. Dean took a long sip from his mug and then licked the whipped cream off his upper lip. "Service here is good. Gotta love Bootback. Despite, you know, angel show-downs. But that could happen anywhere, so."

Bobby rolled his eyes. Sam huffed a laugh, but kept the joke to himself.

Dean moved his chair a little, so his side was getting maximum heat off the fire. Getting closer to Sam was secondary, but a bonus. "So, to recap: we're just gonna keep our heads down and wait it out?"

"I don't see any other option. Unless you plan to take on God," Bobby said in an undertone.

"He's still Cas," Dean said back. "He was like family, and I don't know about you, but leaving him to explode himself doesn't sit right with me."

"You think I like it?" Bobby went to adjust his hat, but he had taken it off in favor of slicking his hair back to fit in with the other guests. "We should call in whatever troops we can find. We've still got Balthazar; last we saw of him, he told us where to find Cas."

Dean nodded. "Where do angels go to hide? And can we trust him?"

"He's not a good bet, but he's the best we've got." Bobby cleared his throat. "And Crowley."

"Crowley! That dick is the one who dragged Cas into it in the first place."

"Keep your voice down. And since when have you known things to be that black and white? Cas was there alone, he said so himself. Seems to me Crowley's got as much to be upset at Cas about as we do."

"No freaking way."

"All right, it was just something to think about."

There was a long quiet during which they mulled things over, and the other guests talked in inside voices about the weather.

There was definitely an eerie quality to the day. It was afternoon, but the sky had been dark washed in blues and grays, nimbus clouds stacked on top of one another and fit to burst. The lounge of the B&B felt like some compound keeping everything bad out. And Bobby and Dean had made sure of it, too. That first night, they'd crept around painting sigils in lamb's blood under portraits and rugs.

Dean flicked his eyes to Sam, who hadn't touched his drink. He was staring into the fire, legs stretched out in front of him like an olden-days guy, brooding his fate. Dean tap-tap-tapped Sam's ankle with the tip of his boot. Sam just moved his leg to accommodate.

Bobby's voice sounded distant. "For the record, I don't like this plan."

"Yeah, you and me both." Dean glanced around at all the normal people who were here for a nice weekend away from home.

"Someone close that window!" They turned toward the commotion. An elderly man was banging the wood floor with his cane, saying, "A damn storm's brewing."

Tristan hustled to the window. When he shut it, the pulley creaked.

The man turned on them. "What're you looking at?"

Dean pulled back. "Nothing, nothing." He went to make some smart-ass comment but saw that Sam had gone glassy eyed and tight around the mouth.

He stood instantly, pushing his chair back, and Bobby followed suit.

"I'm fine," Sam muttered, but he stood, too.

He let Dean herd him across the room only to crowd him up the stairs, a hand grazing his lower back through his flannel. Their mugs were abandoned on the table.

Once they were back in their room, Sam sat in the desk chair under a ceiling that sloped like a the inside of a chalet.

"Just an aftershock."

Dean leaned next to him and only deliberated a second before brushing some invisible piece of lint off Sam's shoulder. Bobby, who'd been ignoring the way Dean had gotten handsy, affording them the artificial privacy of the trenches, said, "You're going to take a long time to get through this, but if there's one thing I know about you, Sam, it's that you're tough."

Sam gave a dry laugh. "Think so?"

"I know it for a fact."

While they talked, Dean pulled aside the lacy curtains and leaned out the window. The air smelled of static and moisture, and sent a shiver across his neck and the back of his hands, like there was something supernatural at work. He saw that every cloud had a darker lining.

Sam'd had his first attack yesterday, when they were all mute in the aftermath of events anyway, and that's when the first storm had hit, like there was some sort of connection between Sam laid up and the world falling apart.

Dean latched the window, and let the curtains drop back. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, feeling at loose ends. "We gotta do it, Bobby," he said. "We have to try and bring him back."

"In that case, I think we've got a few summoning rituals to do."

Dean put his hand on the desk, resting so his and Sam's pinkies brushed. Sam, for his part, pretended like he didn't notice.

"Let's get started, then."

Outside, thunder broke the world like it was an egg.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Affectionate insults/threats

  
He and Bobby set up a summoning ritual at midnight on Sunday. It was a full moon, but you couldn't tell because clouds were blacking it out, not to mention every star. They chanted in Enochian, lit a bowl of myrrh on fire, the whole bit, but—

"So, he didn't show," Dean said. He was down two books of matches and half a gallon of swan blood, on his knees in the mist. "That doesn't necessarily mean anything."

Bobby smeared the chalk lines on the wet concrete with the toe of his boot so that it became a more imperfect pentagram. "Maybe he's hiding out."

"Well, that does fit his M.O. He was shacking up in some mansion when me and Sam first met him."

"Although maybe he's dead."

"Nah, Cas wouldn't kill him."

"Other things to do than kill him."

"He was his best friend, Bobby."

Bobby squinted at Dean but it was dark and Dean pointedly ignored it. He muttered, "He's known the guy for millenia. I was there when he found out Balthazar was alive, I saw the look on his face. There's no way he'd do that. Man, people these days...."

The thing was, Sam didn't seem too bad off. Sure, it was still raining, and it had been five days of only going out of the B&B for the odd meal or to grab stuff from the car, or the summoning ritual last night that had come to nothing, but things were better than they should have been. Not cheery, but not terrible, either, not by a long shot. Normal, really.

Currently, Sam was flipping through a stapled packet of info on a small cross section of Christian religious texts. He had a bible on the table that was dog-eared and bookmarked and a stack of three texts on God from Victorian England, seemingly at random. Meanwhile, Dean had gotten through virtually none of his own stack.

He watched Sam read, noting how Sam's lips were pursed because that was his concentrating face. Dean leaned back in his chair until the legs squeaked, and looked around the room once before saying, "You know, you've probably done like three PhDs by now."

"You're being lazy and also a creep," Sam reminded him in distracted tones. He flipped to the next page which had some fun symbols on it.

"Nah. You know me—slow reader. You're the brains, while me, I'm always looking out for you, watching you like a hawk...." Which, yeah, was kind of too literal at the moment. It occurred to Dean, then, that he maybe hadn't gotten through any of it because he'd spent the whole time staring at Sam. He dropped the chair so set was firmly on four legs. "Yeah, I'm being a creep."

Sam laughed only once, and quietly, and continued his reading. Dean adjusted his jacket sleeves. He tried to think of an excuse to lean forward and maybe ruffle Sam's hair, but couldn't find one. Trying not to grab Sam...fun game.

It took three more minutes until Sam said, "Dean, why don't you go take a walk."

"What, in this rain?" he asked.

"A turn around the room then," Sam muttered, but he'd already moved his attention away, back to the task at hand: slogging through anything and everything on God like maybe lore would help them in this situation. Dean had his doubts. Some major doubts.

"I'm good."

"Let me put it this way, then: If you keep fidgeting, I'm gonna kill you." Sam hadn't even looked up from his reading but Dean was still overjoyed at the attention. Man, this was getting pathetic.

There was nothing for it. He ambled over to the front desk.

No one was there. Dean only hesitated a second before smacking the bell with the palm of his hand.

He saw Tristan hurrying down the stairs with a pile of linens in his arms and a kind of peaceful expression on his face. Dean was happy for the guy, really—he looked assured, like he didn't have anything from Hell or Heaven on his ass and all he had to worry about was upkeep.

When Tristan got there, he gave Dean an inquisitive smile, like what could Dean actually need in this homey, little inn? "Can I help you?"

"Look—" Dean coughed into his fist. "I'm only saying hey because I've got nothing better to do."

"Okay, reputation intact." Tristan looked confused, flicking a glance to the cozy tables and Dean followed his gaze to where Sam was biting the cap of his highlighter, swamped in books. They both looked out the window, too, to where rain was smacking against the glass.

Tristan made a humming noise and said, "Yeah, you don't look like the umbrella type."

"Oh thanks, real polite. Nice concierging." That got a smile. Never failed to hit Dean the right way, didn't matter who.

"You know, I don't think that's a word."

"What, you're some authority?"

"Comparative Lit PhD, actually. I moved back here for the summer." He frowned at Dean. "You don't have anything against pre- and early-modern religious texts, do you?"

Dean stilled. "You're joking."

"No, I actually _am_ deeply offended."

"Oh."

He widened his eyes. "Oh my God, chill out. Of course I'm joking."

"Oh, right. Right."

"What, you not get out much?"

Dean scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, sorry. Guess I'm kind of high-strung lately."

He watched as Tristan organized a stack of sign-in sheets, until the guy said, "Hey, so. You planning on sticking to these parts?"

"Oh, well, we're not really sure. Maybe another week or so—"

"You have a loose work schedule or something?"

"Heh. Something like that." Heading back to Bobby's sounded great, except for, you know, their supposed new God knowing the location.

Tristan had started tapping at the desk with a pen, like a nervous tick. "I'm just asking because, there's that new zombie flick showing. _It Came From the Lawn_." He dropped his pen, then, in favor of wiggling his fingers. Dean knew for a fact that Zombies could barely even control their limbs, let along their smaller parts, but it was endearingly mainstream.

"Wasn't that supposed to come out around the fourth?" he said.

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Oh, right. And now it's—"

"The third. It comes out today, actually."

"—the third, right." Dean looked the guy over. He was tipping forward just a little, looking hopeful. Dean took a step back. "Months, man. Pass you by."

"Well?"

Dean stared kind of blankly at the guy for a beat too long. "You know, I'm kind of in the middle of something. If you, uh. If you know what I mean."

"Oh, right. Right, totally." His gaze slipped away. "I totally get that." The sign-in sheets made an appearance again. "I should probably go file these. You know, not here." He shuffled them a little.

"Right," Dean said. Awkward. "Right, I'll go find my—okay."

Tristan hightailed it out of there. Dean turned to head back to the tables, but Sam was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Bad movie marathon

Dean stomped around upstairs looking for his wayward brother, even going so far as to yank open the closet and rip aside the shower curtain on the offchance. He may have even knocked on a few doors before he jogged downstairs again. Tristan wasn't at the desk, which was Dean's doing, but he would need to wrangle him to help if things were serious.

He stepped outside, keys gripped in hand.

He found Sam leaning against the wall.

"Hey."

Dean could have said a lot of things, but the first on hand was: "You weren't answering your phone."

"It's not like I thought to bring my charger when I stumbled out of Bobby's," Sam said, logical.

It was true; he had gotten out of the panic room and somehow made it onto a bus in town. He'd slept the whole six hours to Kansas, and then made the next leg to the factory by the river. Dean still hadn't gotten a coherent story.

"Needed some air," Sam told him. "That damn fire was making me sleepy."

Dean examined his shoes, then his fingernails, which were ragged. The rain had let up earlier but not the cold. His breath came out in puffs and he tugged his jacket firmly around himself, wriggling a hand in under his shirts to warm against his stomach. "So, there's not much to do in this town, is there?"

Sam looked at him like he was crazy. It wasn't a new expression by half, and made something balloon out in Dean's chest. "Except for trying to stop you-know-who from going on a rampage, you mean?"

Dean muttered, "I mean, yeah, but that aside. I wouldn't be opposed."

"Opposed?"

"To seeing _It Came From the Lawn_. Tonight. Popcorn."

"First off, I don't know what that is. And more importantly, don't you think we should be helping Bobby with that cracked out plan you guys came up with?"

"Come on, Sam. I'm sure he'd rather you got—you know, you got better."

It was the first time he'd said anything of the sort, what with Sam acting fine and all. There was the requisite silence that followed, until Sam said, "Fine."

"What?"

"I said fine, Dean. I'll see your shitty movie."

Dean felt warmth curl up inside him. "Oh, right on."

Sam scuffed his shoe against a cobblestone. "Doesn't mean I'm gonna like it, though."

"No, no, of course not." Dean carefully snagged Sam by the jacket sleeve, curling a finger under the cuff. "So, we're cool? I know you're gonna tell me you forgot your wallet at Bobby's, too, so, I'll pay for your broke ass."

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, looks like you're stuck with me."

Dean snickered and Sam tried to step on his foot for no real reason. Yeah, maybe it was a moment.

Lightning rent the sky so that Sam's face was washed out in a shock of black and white. Thunder followed a split-second after.

"Seriously?" Dean said to the heavens at large.

He grabbed Sam for real this time and ran them to the car. The doors creaked open and Dean got the keys out of his pocket and jumped in, and he and Sam slammed the driver and passenger side as one just as it started to pour.

The town's one theater was run-down in a very monster movie sort of way. They found it easily, seeing as there were just two or three main roads that intersected in a grid they navigated easily, the Impala's tires sluicing through puddles and rain striking the windshield like it was hail and had personal grievances.

Dean glanced at Sam once or twice, because he had his suspicions, but nothing seemed more amiss than it had ten minutes ago, so he would wait until the next instance of thunder to decide whether there was a link. There was always a next time, is something they'd learned.

"I can see how you'd want to move out of this place," he muttered.

"Who's you?"

"Tristan."

Sam gave him a blank look.

"Guy at the desk. You know, with the hair? Late twenties, studying something that could probably help us? You should go talk to him, actually. I bet he speaks Aramaic."

They bought tickets under the name Gandalf Gris, and they dug their hands into a box of cool popcorn in the dark theater as zombies groaned in technicolor. Sam ate popcorn piece by puffy piece and Dean spent the latter half of the movie checking his lap for those final pieces that had fallen into his lap. He licked his fingers in a way he'd been told was annoying, but Sam had his feet up on the empty seat in front of him and continued watching the movie, uninterrupted.

Dean watched zombies make their slow trudge down suburban streets and realized again: Cas was God, or something like it. The whole thing felt surreal.

When they left, the skies were clearing enough that there were faint points of stars visible.

"That wasn't horrible." On the scale of things.

Sam ambled alongside him. "I've always told you you should examine your standards."

When they reached the car, Dean stuck his hands in his pockets and took a while to yank out the keys. It felt like a moment that should be broken only at the last second, when it became absolutely necessary.

"The dude with the machete was freaking awesome," he said, leaning his elbows on the roof.

Sam shrugged, "Whatever. The movie spreads false information about how to kill zombies. I'd give it a C minus at best. An hour and twenty minutes, featuring the lines 'Oh God no!' and 'Not my baby!'"

"Dude, are they even allowed to eat babies on screen?"

"It just happened, so I'm betting yes."

    


When they got back to the B&B, it only continued. Dean flopped down onto the bed and grunted when Sam told him to shove over, that he was hogging the whole thing—nevermind it was Sam's bed. Dean's had a suitcase conveniently open on it.

"Hey Sam, guess what's on Showtime?"

Sam said, with some resignation, "We're going to watch it, aren't we?"

"Yup."

Sam sighed and reached toward his computer almost, in its case by the nightstand, but then he rolled back, saying, "I should go room with Bobby. Why is life like this?"

The middle door swung open. Dean grabbed under the pillow for his gun and Sam was on his feet, reaching for the bible.

It was just Bobby. He put up placating hands and said, "Keep your shirts on."

Dean relaxed. Sam didn't, not completely.

"While you two have been putting my feelers out, emailing to see who's alive and willing to lend a hand. One thing about Cas, at least he doesn't know how to use the internet."

"Yeah, thank god for that."

Sam was frowning. Dean turned on him.

"You didn't, did you?" Sam looked cagey. "Aw, come on."

"He asked!" Sam said. "And it was a long time ago!"

"We're probably fine," Bobby said. "We'll consider this in the morning. For now, let's get some shut eye."

"Nah, we've got a date with _Bloody Heart's Club_."

"Believe me when I say, I don't wanna know."

"It's this vampire flick. Sam's totally into it, even though he threatened to—"

"I'm going to bed. Just because I have to put up with your faces doesn't mean I gotta put up with your teen drama too—" He slammed the connecting door, but it seemed goodnatured enough.

"He loves it," Sam decided.

Dean rolled closer towards him to grab the remote. "He so does."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Saturday morning cartoons.

  
Dean was exhausted the next morning. He brushed his teeth with one hand and peed with the other. He left his toothbrush stuck in his mouth while he moved aside the tiny drapes of the bathroom window with a finger. The sky was slate gray, the Heavens giving off a petulant vibe, if that was at all possible.

He finished up and went back into the room. It was eight AM and Sam seemed fine, dressed and lying on top of the covers watching TV. Dean glanced over at the screen but it was just commercials targeted at mainstream America. He sat at the end of the bed, and grabbed the remote to hold it lax between his knees in case he needed to make an executive decision and change the channel. He glanced out the window again.

Sam shifted behind him. "You want to tell me what you've been jumping at? Unless you've developed some new phobia, it's not the thunder that scares you."

"It's why it's happening, is what's bugging me."

"I've been wondering that, too. Mid-summer storms? It _is_ Kansas."

Dean hesitated, but keeping secrets never got them anywhere. He turned and said, "I've been wondering if the freaky weather isn't linked to us somehow."

"You think?" Sam furrowed his brow. "I haven't been paying attention."

"I don't know. I'm not sure of anything."

"Let's keep a list," Sam said. "Maybe it's nothing, but it couldn't hurt."

Dean nodded, feeling that edge of relief he always got once he'd confronted something with Sam. Sam yawned and Dean turned his eyes back to the screen. An ad for beer was on, except it was Bud, and he was so not drinking that shit. They mainly drank fine, local microbrews, a perk of traveling down every road in the country.

"I keep thinking of how, you know, back when we used to all hang out, that time we ordered pizza because Cas wanted to try it, and it was suddenly all awkward cuz of that one porno." He laughed. "I keep thinking how that was only two months ago but how it feels like an eternity."

"It pretty much was," Sam said. "Time doesn't apply to us like that, and it definitely doesn't apply to angels."

"Yeah," Dean said, feeling at loose ends. He'd felt helpless before, of course. They'd been in a billion situations where there was literally nothing they could do, hands tied and nowhere to turn, but it's just that this time was so, so different. They were just sitting on their asses, watching cartoons.

The show came back on. Sam shifted and Dean gestured to the screen with the remote. "This? This is what you're watching?"

"What we're watching," Sam said. "There's something intriguing about it."

"Something grotesque," Dean grumbled, because, well, My Little Ponies.

    


Bobby knocked at their door and they trooped down for breakfast. The little sitting area was starting to feel homey. The fire was always going and people recognized them. Dean couldn't stop drinking hot chocolate.

When they came down the stairs, a woman waved her hand. "Sam, over here!"

Sam stooped to kiss her cheek. "Good morning, Mrs. Landen. How's your are you feeling today?"

"It's my damn hip, always aching when it rains. And you've seen these storms we've been having. In July, of all things! Oh, go have some breakfast. You're a growing boy."

"Have a lovely day, Mrs. Landen."

Dean snickered and Sam ignored him. They sat at the empty table near the window. Rain was dribbling down and Dean felt cold on one side near the glass. He had this superstition, like the world was just going to flood, taking them all with it.

There was a presence at his side and he thought it was Tristan, but when he turned, he jumped. It was Crowley.

He and Sam both stood, chairs shoving back over the carpet. Crowley just tutted. "Now, now, boys. Are we really going to make a scene?"

"What do you want, Crowley?" Sam ground out.

"Take a seat. I'm here to help. Demon's honor." He crossed his heart with an X, and then pulled up a chair, nodding to Bobby. "William."

Bobby rolled his eyes and said, "Nice of you to stop by."

Crowley spread his hands. "Look, we've all been busy. Try not to take it to heart."

Dean looked to Sam, who shrugged a shoulder. They sat.

"The choreography of the brothers Winchester never ceases to amuse."

One thing that pissed Dean off about demons is they spoke in pleasantries. He'd always hated small talk, it was used to cover everything else in something sickly sweet. "How'd you find us?"

"Nevermind that," Crowley said. "What I've brought you is the real kicker." But then he cut off.

"What can I get you this morning?" Tristan mumbled, looking down at his small notepad.

Sam handed him the pile of menus, which they hadn't touched. "We'll have the usual."

Dean nodded. "Same. Bobby?"

"Yep."

"I'm fine." Tristan gave Crowley a dubious look as he smiled up in a way that was a little too sultry. "I'm watching my figure."

Tristan nodded and spoke directly to Bobby.

"I'd also like to take this opportunity to wish you a happy Fourth of July," he said, rote, bored and uncomfortable. "Our town offers an array of activities: a parade this afternoon, weather permitting, and fireworks at nine by the lake."

"Well isn't that nice," Bobby grumbled.

"Yes, we like to think of ourselves as a happy community, one tightly knit family, which we invite you to join." Spiel finished, he trailed away, looking despondent.

Crowley was the first to speak. "My, my. Is he normally like that? No, I'm betting it was you: Dean the surly." He made a pretty moue. "Did you piss in his ice cream."

Dean carefully arranged his fork and knife. "No, he asked me out and I said no."

Crowley laughed in surprise. "You're serious."

"Dean!"

Dean looked at Sam. "What?"

Sam frowned. "You can't just...."

"End of the world? Again? Ring any bells?" _And there's always you_. A thought which zipped past, unbidden and not to be missed, either.

Crowley just raised his eyebrows. "All right, then. Back to the subject at hand."

All emotion or thought was dropped instantly to make room for surprise, when Crowley pulled out Dean's old necklace.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: He thought it would be easy....

Sam half stood again, "Where did you—?" but went easily when Dean pulled him down again. "That's impossible."

Crowley dangled it from his fist, and they all watched it sway like a hypnotist's charm. "I traded it for a child's lolly."

Dean recoiled. "Gross."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "I found it, in fact, no thanks to whichever one of you it was that tossed it in the bin. I contracted the hell-bound and got a lucky few to dive into that landfill you humans keep in the middle of the Pacific. I had to bathe in righteous indignation and hand sanitizer after the fact. Not exactly what I'd imagined when I sprung for an island getaway, let me tell you."

Dean reached out but Crowley pulled his hand away. "You think I'm giving this up for free?"

"What's your game? It's just an old necklace, and although I'm touched that you're apparently nostalgic about my stuff, why the hell would you expend that much effort?"

"Do I have to spell everything out for you monkeys?" He gave each of them a pointed look, until he finally sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose, saying in condescending tones. "This amulet is more than it seems."

"How so?"

"Oh come on. Think hierarchy. Think big kahuna."

Sam leaned in to Dean to murmur, "Do you remember how Cas said it was used to find God? He said it got hot in God's presence."

"Yeah. I also remember how it didn't work."

"Correction," Crowley said. "He did't find God."

"So it works," Sam said slowly. "But there was no God to find?"

"Until now. As of a week ago, there's an epicenter of power out there, a honed instrument of force that this bad boy here can sense a great distance away. Your buddy and my ex-business partner, yes, the one and only, Castiel. Much augmented."

"So you're saying the amulet only senses a power that's past a certain threshold?"

He pointed at Sam. "Ding ding ding."

"Meaning, if Cas really is who he says he is, then we'll be able to track him down with the necklace. So what, are we going to wander the earth then? Trying to find him?"

"How Biblical," Crowley said dryly. "But no, I wouldn't advise it. That would take, well, years. In any case, I leave this in your surprisingly competent hands; I'm sure you'll figure something out."

Bobby hadn't spoken the entire time, but at that he raised his voice. "Hold on a tick." Surprisingly, Crowley stopped, gesturing for Bobby to continue. "After a disappearing act, why are you helping us now?"

"Look, Cas kicked me out just like he did you three. He thought it would be easy...but I'm not going to let it be. I've got a grudge, boys, and you're going to help me fill it."

Sam laughed. "You think we're going to work with you?"

"He's right, Sam." Bobby said. "We've got two options: fight or run. And it's obvious everyone here wants to fight, so Crowley's got a point; it's not us working for him. In fact, it's more like him working for us—"

"Hey!"

"I'm not damn finished," Bobby said. "Crowley, I'm taking it as a given that you're gonna scheme and go behind our backs, but I'm gonna need you to promise you're not screwing us over on this. You're not gonna try to use this to get rid of Sam and Dean, and you're not gonna try to take all those souls yourself once they're out."

Crowley smirked at him and then dropped the necklace onto the table with a small clunk. He spread his hands. "Agreed. Can I go now? Or do you have more complaints?"

Dean spoke up. "You never answered our question. How did you find us?"

Crowley squinted, like he wasn't considering whether to answer. Finally, he shifted his gaze to Bobby. "You know what they say: once touched—" And disappeared.

Bobby was the first to speak. "Well, shit."

Sam was staring at the necklace like it was going to start melting through the table right then.

"Cas isn't here, so...." Dean's fingers twitched towards it on the tabletop. "Should I put it on?"

"I don't see why not."

Sam handed it to him and their fingers brushed, of course they did, but it felt like electricity. Sam didn't notice because it was just static from the storm that was doubtless brewing outside and Dean was just going insane.

He looped it over his head just as lightning struck. The amulet glowed hot on his chest. Dean tucked it under his shirt, muttering, "great, it's broken."

One thing they'd learned since the introduction of Heaven into their lives was to view divine intervention with a critical eye, but sometimes you were just desperate, no way to go but deeper into it. Their next move was pretty easy.

    


They decided to do a seance, which none of them was any good at, so they paid the town psychic a buttload of money to do it for them. She'd raised her eyebrows when three guys in suits came in asking for a location, anything, just a word, of how to find the antichrist.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," she said, after they'd talked for a time and she'd dropped the act to talk business. She had a paperweight with a scorpion in it and a cross slung around her neck. Meanwhile, the amulet was acting up against Dean's chest, every once and a while pulsing warm from the static in the air. Despite that, it felt normal to have it back.

"Don't even worry," Bobby was telling her. His hair was slicked back and he had on his earnest face, the one that made women bake for him, nevermind he spent his spare time torturing demons in his basement. "His name's Jesse."

"All right," she said. "I can use a number of methods to track down his whereabouts. Last question, we're clear that the person you're trying to find is legally an adult?"

Dean shouldered his way in. "Look, the antichrist is probably centuries old, and when it comes down to it, you don't even believe he exists in the first place."

"Here." Bobby handed her another hundred dollar bill.

She laughed, winking at him. "Fine, but only because you boys are cute. And it's Independence Day, after all."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Trapped in a cave.

They left with a message on a slip of paper.

"I don't know if that was worth the money," the woman said. "But that's not my problem."

"I like this one," Bobby said, which earned him another wink.

"Good luck, boys."

They left through the beaded curtains. Outside was like a breath of fresh air, the afternoon crisp and cold, the road black and damp.

"But for real," Dean said. He wrapped his jacket tighter around him. "I can't help but feel like she just pulled one over on us."

"Look, if we don't help Cas now, world's gonna end anyway, and money won't be an object any more if you know what I mean."

Sam unfolded the paper again and they all looked at what it said: _Hot Dog Stand, Three O'Clock_.

"That's in, like, twenty minutes."

"That's pretty much a no-go, then. We could always figure something else out," Bobby said. "Where there's a will there's gotta be a way."

Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth, thinking. "What could hot dog stand even—Oh, hell-o."

His eyes caught something in the distance. The park was just down the street, and in it stood a giant tent. They all jogged farther down the sidewalk to get a real look.

Dean nudged Sam. "What do you think?"

"Fourth of July celebration? I'd say there's bound to be hot dogs."

    


It was misting rain so, aside for a few kids who were spilling out into the wet grass, the entire town of two-thousand had to elbow in to mill about under the tent. It would have been fine, except, only problem was, there were two hot dog grills on opposite ends.

Bobby went off in one direction. That gave them fifteen minutes to either fit in or lurk obviously, so Dean ambled up to a girl with her hair in braids and a red star on her cheek.

"I'd like a cotton candy." He handed over a buck and then explained, around a mouthful that dissolved in seconds on his tongue, "'S for my brother. He's like five."

The girl giggled, but her smile got kind of fond when Sam came up and Dean handed it to him.

"This is your five year old brother?"

Dean looked him up and down, then turned back to her. "He's really tall."

She smiled. "I can see that."

Dean elbowed him. "Come on."

"Dean—" Dean dragged him away to another table.

"Darts." Dean said. He rubbed his hands together and considered the wall of balloons which was set up to look like an american flag. "So, what do you want me to win?"

Sam pressed in next to him because of the crowd, but Dean got a nostalgic feeling down to his toes of times at crappy carnivals where he and Sam had rocked those bottle and shooting games. Sam had always been good at the air guns while Dean had been better at ring toss.

"Well?"

Sam glanced at the hot dog cart and then back to consider the prizes. "The shark."

There pimply kid at the table asked, "two dollars please," and then handed Dean a cup of five darts. He said, monotone and chewing gum, "Pop five of the stars off the flag and the shark is yours."

"I so got this."

"Sure, mister." He went back to blowing up balloons by hand.

Dean took aim and flung a dart. It stabbed through a white balloon. He threw the second and the third with a flick of the wrist, popping both easily.

"How'm I doing?"

The kid looked only vaguely impressed, but then he was probably dizzy from not enough oxygen.

"Left-handed with one eye closed," Sam told him.

"You think I can't do it?"

"Oh I know you can do it, you'll just look kind of dumb."

Dean elbowed him and closed one eye, switching hands. He spun around in a circle for effect, and then got the final two, easy. The guy wrangled the shark down from the display with a giant hook. Dean had to wrap both arms around it to hold it.

Sam made a considering sound. "Man, I knew you were short, but how is that bigger than you?"

"That's why you get to carry it." He shoved it at Sam, who grabbed it easily and trailed it along by one fin like he'd just wrestled it in the sea and taken it as a prize. Dean was indulging in thoughts about how endearingly stupid the guy looked, when Sam grabbed his arm. "Dean!"

Jesse looked older, which should have been obvious. He was wearing skinny jeans and a red, zip-up hoodie, and was playing on an iPhone.

Sam waved as they approached him slowly. "Jesse! Good to see you!"

Dean speed dialed Bobby while keeping his eyes on the kid. The kid, for his part, eyed the shark.

"I was in math class," he said.

"It's good to hear you're keeping up with your studies, in spite of, you know."

"I like math. And I remember you guys."

"Good, good," Dean said. "Well, thanks for coming all this way."

He shrugged. "No biggie. That was a weird way of talking to me. I like, heard it in my head."

"Yeah, sorry. Look, we won't take much time. You might not know this, but we're kind of in the business of saving the world. We're the good guys, and we need your help. Do you remember that guy? About yay tall—" Dean gestured to his height, "But who you made, yay short." He held two fingers apart a couple inches.

Jesse almost shook his head, but then he stopped. "The freaky guy in the trenchcoat?"

"Yeah, that's him. We need to get to him. Think you can do that for us? Take us where he is? It's kind of a matter of life or death."

Jesse's eyes widened. "Someone's going to die?"

Sam stepped in. "No, what he means is, it's just really important."

"Really important."

"We'll give you this shark." Sam held it up to demonstrate.

Dean turned on him. "Dude!"

Jesse frowned and shook hair out of his eyes. "Dude, I'm fourteen, not a five-year-old girl."

Dean said out the side of his mouth, "Man, he just called you a girl."

Jesse was thinking. He rubbed a hand over his stomach. "Well, I am kind of hungry."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder and spread his arm to the crowd of people and stands. "Whatever you want, dude. I could go in for a burger myself."

"Can I have a deep fried twinkie, too?"

Dean gave him a look. "Can you have a—what kind of question is that? Heck yes, you can have a deep-fried twinkie."

    


  
Jesse zapped the three of them to a deserty, mountain pass area. It was night, and the stars were so bright it was like someone had shaken salt over the heavens. Dean swiveled his head to check out the surroundings in the darkness. There were tall rocks around them and some mangy looking, spiked plants. His boots crunched over coarse sand.

"I gotta go," Jesse told them. "You guys gonna be okay here?" He looked around like he was honestly freaked out. It could have been Dean's imagination, but clouds started moving in overhead.

"Jesse, we cannot thank you enough," Sam said, face blue with moonlight. "We are going to be fine."

"You may have saved the world," Bobby told him, patting him on the shoulder. "Now get back to what you were doing."

Jesse looked uncertain, but pointed at a rock face. "There's a cave. I think that's where...I mean, that's where you should go. See ya." And with that, he was gone.

Before they could say anything, there was a boom and all three of them were thrown.

Dean struggled up onto his knees from where he'd fallen. He had like half a cactus stuck in his ass. "What the hell was that?"

The air crackled with some insane amount of electricity, and the hairs on his arms stood on end. He grabbed at his chest, and then realized it was the amulet, pulsing with heat.

"Lightning," Sam said. He grabbed Dean's forearm to help him up.

"But where'd it even come from?" When he looked up, the sky was nearly all dark. "Okay, that's freaky."

"Sam, Dean." They turned and both took a step back.

One of the bushes had caught on fire. Bobby was poking at the sand around it with a stick. It had partially turned to glass.

Bobby walked a ways to look at the rock face Jesse had pointed to. "It looks like there's a cave over this way. Think that's what Jesse was talking about?"

"Imagine if we got struck by lightning," Dean said. "Freaking embarrassing way to go."

They trooped over to the hole in the wall. Bobby took a step in. "Anyone got a flashlight?"

"My phone," Dean said. "Although it's not too bright."

They stepped into the crack, the air instantly dank and cool. It smelled like ages of wet rock and clear water.

When they turned to look back the way they'd come, there was only a smooth wall where the entrance had been.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Clothes sharing

So, this was an actual stuck-in-a-cave situation, complete with unscalable walls and no light to see by. It rapidly became clear that they were trapped, and seeing as the wall had closed up behind them, some superbeing probably wanted them to stay that way.

After wandering around the perimeter, palming the slick walls and trying to stay calm, Bobby began another tour, shining the light of Dean's phone upward in attempts to spot a ceiling, where so far there'd been nothing but a yawning and oppressive blackness. Meanwhile, Sam grabbed onto Dean and dragged him to sit against a wall.

Dean knocked their knees together and said, "Okay, scratch that—trapped in a cave is more embarrassing than struck by lightning."

"Think we should pray for Cas again?"

"We did like a billion times and he didn't show. Starting to wonder if Jesse knew what he was doing." Dean's voice sounded lost and quiet to his own ears. He wondered if Bobby could hear them. The light seemed awfully far away, but chances were every little sound carried more than you realized. In any case, Bobby definitely couldn't see the way Dean had curled his hand into a loose fist against Sam's knee, like the darkness was an excuse and maybe Sam wouldn't notice either. "What I wouldn't do for a hot chocolate right now. Or some food. I'm kinda hungry."

"You know, you'd think after years of endangerment, we'd carry a powerbar on us or something."

"I've got like five sunflower seeds." He wedged his hand into his pocket, searching out seeds, holding on to Sam's knee for leverage. Sam shifted, but didn't say anything, and definitely didn't knock him away. That sort of inaction fell in the realm of Difficult to Parse and Dean had made a habit of stowing it away and forgetting about it.

He held out his fist in the dark, kind of as a joke. "Here."

"Gee, thanks," Sam said, but found Dean's hand with no trouble. Proprioception, dad had called that sort of awareness.

The light bobbed closer to them and Dean went to move away, a guilty twitch, but Sam just splayed his leg to follow. Then Bobby was moving away again, his footsteps knocking small pebbles into nowhere. Dean rested his head back against the cave wall and sighed out harshly through his nose, trying to relax.

Sam said, "So, I know it's not the time, but that guy at the B&B—"

Dean groaned. "We're really having this talk? Man, I've said it before, I don't do awkward, especially when there's a chance that we're gonna die soon."

"I'm just saying, I'm back. I'm fine. I don't want you to worry about me, if you get what I'm saying."

They'd spent a lot of time in nighttime situations, but this was by far the darkest, the rest of the world erased so all he had to look at was himself. A guy could go crazy. Dean didn't answer Sam because he didn't even know where to start.

When Bobby wandered back, he sat down a ways away and gave them a little pep talk. "I say we just get some sleep for now. We are not going to get anywhere tonight, and maybe some light'll creep in the morning. We've been in worse situations than this one, by far, and a lot's solved with a good night's rest."

Dean slapped Sam on the thigh. "Sounds like a plan."

He stretched out until he was lying on his back with his hands on his chest and a rock under his head as a pillow.

"Man, this is going to be one of those cold nights, isn't it?" he said, and Sam grunted next to him where he was lying out, too. "I hate those."

    


They waited.

    


Bobby fell asleep. It was more disconcerting that his snores didn't echo, because maybe they'd be able to gauge how high the cave went. They'd been quiet themselves for a while, but now Sam was holding a slow conversation about that with himself outloud while Dean made the occasional humming noise to keep him going. The slow murmur of Sam's pseudoscience was always more comforting than Dean was willing to admit.

"Maybe if we had the EMF or something the pinging would echo off at a higher frequency which maybe would upset some bats or something," Sam mumbled.

"Mm."

"And if there were bats, there would probably be a way out that wasn't that tiny crack in the wall."

"Mm-hm." At some point he'd rolled toward Sam on his side. Even though he wasn't tired, he rested there with his eyes closed; when he opened them he remembered he was blind and the darkness made him feel mute.

Sam sighed. "I wonder sometimes if prayer isn't a different wavelength. Like how can someone listen in like that? Is the name the key, like a hashtag that shows up on the Heavenly mini-feed? Or is it the intent that sends the message? There's a lot we don't know, Dean. If we get out of here, I want to do some research."

"What do you mean 'if'?" He poked Sam in what ended up being the neck.

"Ow," Sam deadpanned. There was a long silence and then Sam smacked out a hand so the back of it rested over Dean's hip. He left it there, and Dean was going to say something. He was gearing himself up to it even though the dark made his brain feel like taffy, when Sam half-sat to lean over him. He was probably trying to make out Dean's face. "Are you shivering?"

It was true, at some point he'd gotten a slight tremor that wouldn't stop. He tucked a hand in an armpit. "Nah."

Sam sighed, which got all over Dean's face, too. "Dude, breathmint," he griped, but then Sam was putting a warm hand up his neck and he curled into it. No one was ever gonna know.

Sam muttered, "you want my jacket, princess?"

"Shove it. And why're you so warm all the time, anyway?"

"The devil burns cold." Dean could feel him shrug. "Compared to time in the cage, this sort of thing is like a temperate spring day."

He didn't know what to say to that. It was the first hint that Sam even wanted to talk about memories the wall had let in and Dean had gone all rigid. He was working up to it, responding, but instead he just gasped quietly when Sam snaked an arm up his shirt. He gave a full-body shudder but it was more like the cold was working its way out of him.

When it seemed Sam had finished settling up against his side, his palm flat over the hot amulet on Dean's chest and his face warming the crook of Dean's shoulder, Dean whispered, distantly, "If this is just some excuse to spoon me...." He scratched at the rough fabric over Sam's ribs with slow fingers, cuz he was thinking.

"You got a follow up to that?"

The warmth was kicking in like a charm; Dean eyes were closing by the slow hand of sleep. "I'm working on it."

    


It took way too long to struggle back to consciousness. It felt like it had only been ten minutes, and besides that, Dean was ridiculously comfortable and something told him what he had to wake up to was not worth nearly the amount of trouble.

But then Sam was pushing him away and there was a flash to accompany a modest explosion. Dean struggled to his feet, blinking away the afterimage, and blue light flooded the cave.

He squinted as a voice he couldn't place said, "Oh, there you are."

"Balthazar."

"Oh my. I can come back later, if...."

Dean frowned at the look of censure, until he realized he was still grabbing tight to Sam's shirt. He took a step away. Balthazar grimaced before blinking and shaking his head.

He said, "I heard your call the other day—in poorly pronounced Enochian—but I couldn't get to the phone. Let's consider this that rain check we never arranged."

Bobby rubbed at his eyes and held his gun like a sleepy bear. "But how'd you find us?"

"Well, there was this voice, and then this white light—" Balthazar said. "You laugh, but honestly, boys, next time don't send the antichrist. That's rather rude."

"It got your attention."

"That it did. And possibly the attention of some other beings, if you get my meaning. You do, get my meaning, don't you?"

"Cas," Sam said. "But why don't you want Cas to know where you are? You're in hiding?"

Balthazar shook his head. "He tried to stab me, yes. A real blow to the ego. See if I throw him any parties. And believe you me, I've thrown a mean party."

Dean glanced around, on the off-chance that Cas would just be standing there in the barren cave. He wasn't. "Do you think he knows where we are?"

"Of course he does. There's a bush literally burning right outside, totally unconsumed by the otherwise all-consuming power of fire; what more proof of God's presence do you need?"

"But you're still going to help us."

Balthazar shrugged. "I've got a real softspot for him, what can I say?"


	8. Chapter 8

  
Balthazar looked around at all three of them. "So, isn't this nice? Three men, one quest to find God. It's one for the books, wouldn't you say? Or wait, you already have made the shelves, if I heard correctly."

"No one would read that crap."

"Well, that's just the thing, isn't it?"

"What is?" Sam asked.

Balthazar gestured to Dean. "It's as you say. No one would read it, because it's already been written."

"What?"

"Why your bible! The same stories happen again and again throughout history, not to the letter, but various permutations therein. You think events in the bible were happening for the first time?"

"Well—"

"Oh dear, is this because papa Winchester moved you around from school to school, or do other people think like that? You sorry, amnesiatic....the bible just recorded a set of stories, as are panoply other religious texts. It just happened to be written down then, because humans had the tools. Don't you see? History is just repetition after repetition. Details change, but the song stays the same."

"Well, that's all very Battlestar."

"Writing!" Balthazar pronounced. "The greatest human weapon, emerging right before our very eyes. A way to record patterns for later generations, that finally, _finally_ someone would notice. Just like dear old dad kept a journal which you boys later mined for information during hunts.

"No, I see from your faces, which I am unfortunately rather acquainted with now, that you don't quite get it. Let me put it another way, that you might better understand me." Here he made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "Humans: menial laborours of the heavens. Or rather, humankind: know-it-all secretaries who never quite paid attention in class. The greatest of grassroots efforts, though it's always one step ahead, one giant leap back for you.

"Speaking of which: going to the moon! You thought you were going towards the future, when in reality you were moving away from what was right under your noses. Your forefathers were correct: Geocentric universe." He pointed to Sam. "It's all. Happening. Here. It's the souls."

"Yeah, everyone's been saying that."

"It's the souls. The raw power. Think about it; some human scientists say that there is no soul, only a firing of neurons and synapses, tiny electrical exchanges inside you where earlier generations thought the soul should be. These electrical exchanges are infinite. Scientists say this, only to be called out as blasphemers, which is the great irony. Because remember what I just said about writing? Greatest weapon?"

He tapped his temple. "Knowing what we do, from an endless toil of philosophical and scientific text, well riddle me this—given that on one hand we know there's a soul, and that humans have one inside each and every one of them, as posited by many a religion and proven by Sam's having existed away from his body for a time, and meanwhile, here on the other side of this fallacy of a metaphorical running between science and philosophy we have the fact that the human body has been physiologically proven to have electricity coursing through it, well." He waved a hand, like the answer was hanging in the air.

In the lengthy silence following his speech, Balthazar looked at each of them. A water droplet fell to the ground with a ping.

"Um," offered Dean.

But Sam was frowning. "Then the soul is—"

"Yes?"

"The soul _is_ electricity?"

"Yes! One point for the moose! God said Let There Be Light, and lo it was so. Think of my edging you towards this realization as a god complex of my own; I get to be the spark that sends the rest of the dominoes falling in your tiny little brains. Brilliant."

Dean thought of how lights zapped in the barn when Cas had first walked into their lives. He thought of the static of the radio and of how Cas could tune in on TV or blow things away with the screech of his real voice. And that was before eating a million large. "So when Cas said he was the new God...."

"Cassy baby is powerful, it's true, but he's just that: a new god. I'm starting to see that. Until very recently, I, just like every other angel, had faith that our Father would return. But it's becoming clear to me how very wrong we were. Cas has taken up the gauntlet. He's starting from where we are now, in history, which was bound to happen; there can only be so much slack lying around before someone stoops to pick it up. He's starting over, and if we don't stop him, the stories will repeat. And I do mean Old Testament—rage, raw power, the whole bit."

Bobby, as always, stepped in and asked the more important question if they were to consider their next move. "Why are you telling us this?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Balthazar asked. "To traumatize you with a bit of useless exposition! No, I joke. I'm feeling a bit of remorse at double crossing. He stabbed me. _Stabbed_ me, which made me reconsider a few things. I'd like to repent. What better way than to give him what he wants?"

"And what does he want?" Dean asked. "Last time I checked, he wanted to hold onto all that power and go off and smite Raphael's followers."

"And he's doing a bang-up job of that, from what I hear from my sources in Heaven. But I think he wants something else. That's where you come in."

"What could we possibly have that he wants?"

"Well, you tell me. Considering the storm, up until yesterday, was centered directly over one town, I assume it has something to do with you two. It always does."

"Well," Dean said. "That answers that. It's not your fault after all, Sam."

"Gee, thanks." Sam turned back to Balthazar. "At the factory, he said he wanted us to serve him. Or, no, he said he wanted us to love him."

Balthazar nodded. "That makes sense."

"Aside from the obvious...why?"

"At risk of sounding cheesy, love is like the meeting of two souls, a bond. It's what Cas formed with you when he gave you that burn on your shoulder, and its what Crowley did to Bobby when he wrote a contract onto his soul. Same as you boys share for no reason other than you've been etching your names into each other like a brand since the very beginning."

"Me and Crowley, and them two," Bobby said. "That's different."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, me and Sam—"

"Guilty looks all around," Balthazar said. "As much as I'd like to watch you all spill your secrets, I must ask, what happened after he asked you to love him?"

Dean shifted on his feet. "We broke out through a window while he just watched."

"Did you? Oh dear. Oh dear, this is not good."

"We thought...." Sam said. "Well, he was letting us go...."

"Of course he was. He's may be a jealous god, but he's still Cas. He's not going to force you to love him, he'll just get hurt when you don't. And possibly strike you down, after he gets sick of the anguish. Oh dear. You boys may have signed your own death sentence."

    


Balthazar zapped them back to the B&B. It was raining, although that was no surprise.

"This is where I get off. You've managed to ward the place correctly, I'll give you that."

"Balthazar—"

"I know, I know, thank me later."

"No, I mean," Dean said. "This thing with you and Cas. You used to be friends."

"Humans," Balthazar scoffed, as if he wished there was someone around who could actually comprehend his disgust. "You talk about friendship like it's something separate from love. You have all these words, but you're just writing yourselves in circles. Love doesn't end just like that. You live each individual moment as you want your entire existence to be and talking about an ending of a bond means believing that time is only linear."

Sam jumped on that one. "What do you—"

Balthazar held up a hand. "You know what—I can't even have this conversation. Just go make amends, hug it out. Try not to get yourselves killed. Not because I care if you live or die, mind you, but because I know it would make Cas sad."

He disappeared with the sound of fabric dropping.

"Well," Bobby said. "He's not half bad. So you think Cas is in there?"

Dean looked at both of them under the streetlight. "I feel like we should be more freaked out by this. Are you freaked out?"

"I was tortured by Lucifer," Sam said, matter-of-factly. "Being ended by God, by Cas, would at least be something I could get my head around."

They all nodded and stared at each other some more.

"Man," Dean muttered. "That is so screwed up."

They trooped inside.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "You're not nearly as smart as you think you are."

They took care in wiping their feet off on the door mat, soaking up the murmur of inside conversation, and when they'd dawdled as much as humanly possible, Dean took the lead and stepped into the sitting room. He had a gun but he didn't want to use it. He had an amulet that was glowing under his shirt. He had his brother and Bobby, but aside from all that, he had nothing.

Cas was seated in a red armchair by the fire. He looked dwarfed by the tall back, normal, except more peaceful around the eyes and mouth, less haggard. Dean's heart picked up.

"Cas."

Cas looked over with his normal squint as they moved through the tables to get closer. "Dean," he said. "Sam, Bobby."

"You look good, Cas."

Then they just stood around for a second. Dean wondered if they were supposed to bow, but there was no freaking way, no matter how happy he was to see him.

There was too much of an audience, too, with elderly guests scattered around the room, seated at tables. There was a bridge tournament in full swing to their left, unaware that god was seated at the table closest to the fire. At least Tristan wasn't at the desk to throw them out when they started a brawl; they could find the door on their own, thanks.

Cas was still squinting up at him. Dean took a breath and said, "Where the Hell have you been?"

"Dean, you have dirt on your face. A large amount of it."

He frowned. "They're freckles."

"No, it actually is dirt," Sam told him. Dean wiped all over his face with his sleeve, and Sam turned back to Cas, "We were in a cave. Looking for you."

"Why would you want to talk to me? You've made it clear that you're not interested in 'hanging out.'"

"Passive aggressive much?"

Sam stepped on Dean's foot. "Look, sorry we ran away, but we just spent a week and a half trying to find you."

Cas looked displeased. "I've been here the whole time, but it's apparent you have room in your life for neither normal people nor divine beings. And isn't it customary to sit?"

They sat. Sam said, "Cas, hold on a second. By 'here' do you mean a mystical, omnipotent here, or do you mean here-here?"

"Here," Cas said. "In this bed & breakfast." They stared at him. "The graduate student? I tried, I did, thinking maybe you'd give me a chance in a different guise, but I was mistaken."

"Tristan?" That kid who couldn't make eye-contact? Dean thought of how he'd taken a noticeable liking to Dean, how they'd nod to one another when Dean rolled downstairs and how the guy would always have hot chocolate ready after dinner when they were worn out from research and rain. Dean thought of Tristan leaning over the desk and asking him to go to a horror movie.

It made sense; Cas knew he liked horror movies, Cas knew that he loved mini-marshmallows. Dean frowned again. "That's actually really touching."

"Yes, well." Cas sat back in his chair.

It was messing with Dean's head. Under normal circumstances, they would either be trying to catch up or trying to drag Cas along on whatever plan. This time was different. This was freaking surreal. In his head, he knew they weren't on good terms, but instead of being pissed, Cas just seemed hurt.

"You've got it backwards," Dean said, trying to work it out even as he said it. "I didn't like the normal guy."

"Dean," Sam said out the corner of his mouth, but Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"I didn't want to hang out with some kid who was on the right track, his life ahead of him and no idea what we know. I wanted to hang out with you—normal you, not you who'd downed a load of borrowed souls. It would have been wrong; I saw that kid and wanted him to live a normal life. I see you and I see us, you know? In it, together."

Cas screwed up his mouth. "I thought you said you were in the middle of something."

Dean hesitated and glanced at Sam. "I'm always going to be in the middle of something, you know? But that doesn't mean it hasn't been lame without you, man. Real lame. And we're here to rescue you."

It sounded stupider out loud than it had in his head, but there it was. Sam put a hand on Cas's shoulder and Dean winced, waiting for some crazy blast, but nothing happened, except for Sam saying, "We really miss you."

Cas looked down at the hand until Sam moved it away. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "I've been alone, as of late. Moreso because of how many I've smote in attempts to purge Heaven of the weak and of the evil. And I've been...thinking."

"What about?"

"About the souls. They've served their purpose. And all of this seemed rather strange without anyone to share it with and without real direction." He gazed into the flames. "Freedom, I've found, is the largest of burdens, especially when you have the greatest amount."

"Wow, modest much?"

Cas shook his head. "I'd provide you with a metaphor, but none would help you comprehend the sheer amount of power I have and the things I can make happen. Anything, Dean. Anything at all. And yet I have no compunction nor compulsion to do any of it. It's hard to be so all-powerful and yet so stranded."

Sam smiled in sympathy. "That's called being bored."

Cas was examining his nails, looking more morose by the second. "And I admit to being a bit...jealous. But I won't be anyone's consolation prize."

"Jealous?"

Bobby growled from his chair, "Idgits, you haven't been hanging out with him, is what he's trying to say. And Cas, what's all this about the lightning?"

Cas looked chagrined. "An unfortunate side-effect."

"You're not anyone's consolation prize," Sam said. "Believe me."

"I rarely believe you," Cas said. "And for that I apologize."

"Wow, and here I thought you were going to—" Dean cleared his throat. "So not to be a stickler, but give back the souls and hang out with us, okay? We'll figure things out together, from now on."

Cas nodded and stood, his tie askew, shoes polished. He smiled sadly, a quirk of the lips. "I've just made arrangements."

Dean looked around. People were still playing cards, like a huge deal hadn't gone down in their midst. "Yeah?"

"Yes, this fire is the gate to Purgatory. I'll release the souls back into it."

"Okay, that's just—"

"It will be done presently," he said. Dean stood and grabbed Cas into a tight hug, even if that sort of thing was dangerous. Cas' shoulders were stiff under his hands, but when Dean pulled back he had that serene expression on his face again.

Dean moved away so Bobby could step in for a quick hug, followed by Sam, who held on for a long time. "Good to have you back."

Cas' hands came up to pat his back, and Dean laughed because Sam's face always looked kind of crazy when he was being earnest. This whole thing was crazy. It was better than Dean could have hoped. It was exactly what he wanted.

"Well isn't this nice?"

Sam still didn't let go, so when Cas inclined his head to say, "Crowley," it was muffled in Sam's collar.

Bobby held out an arm. "Get over here."

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "Oh we've stopped pretending then, have we?" But he rolled his eyes and tucked in at Bobby's side anyway. Dean almost vomitted in his mouth, it was so adorable.

The fire spit and Cas' fingers started glowing. The amulet burned hot as Sam grabbed Dean by the pocket of his jeans to yank him closer.

They were one big, dysfunctional family.


End file.
